


Changes

by WolfSpirit00



Category: The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Friendship, Gen, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfSpirit00/pseuds/WolfSpirit00
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter, Micky, Davy and Mike are four people with greatly different backgrounds. How is it that they all came together to not only form a band but also live together in a little beach-house in California? This story is my take on the boys' pasts and how they came to get to know each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Michael Nesmith

**Author's Note:**

> Age and time-frame: The story is set around mid '64. This would establish them as a decent enough group around '65 and close friends in '66+. Their ages in this story are: Mike- 21, Peter-20, Micky- 19, Davy- 18 This doesn't match their real ages but in the TV-verse it lines up pretty accurately.

** ~Slowly I walk through the gently falling rain - And I know that I will never pass this way again~ **

Robert Michael Nesmith, (or “Michael”, as he preferred) had a pretty tough childhood. However if you ever asked him about it, he wouldn't call it bad. He never knew his dad, not really, but unlike most children in similar situations he never felt the need to find him - in fact he somewhat resented him. Mike's father had taken advantage of his mother – he got her pregnant and then when she most needed help, he disappeared. Somehow, she managed to find the means to support herself and even raised a baby on her own. It wasn't easy and she went many nights without food on her own plate but she managed well enough. In the end it left Mike with a resentment towards his father, though he had no desire to seek the man out or take revenge. Mike was perfectly happy at home with his mother and once the young child was out of diapers it became much easier for his mother to support herself, Mike, and eventually their dog Frak which they got when Mike was around six years old.

Mike was proudly born and raised in Texas, living on the outskirts of a relatively nice town. The nearest store wasn't exactly around the corner, but it wasn't too far, either. It was just far enough to mean that shopping trips were a special weekly adventure when Mike was allowed to get yummy snacks and treats – always finishing them long before the next shopping trip came around. Being so far away from town also meant all the much more room to run around and get in all sorts of harmless trouble.

Unfortunately, there _were_ some drawbacks to being so far out of town. First of all, though Michael did go to school, he was never able to get together to play with any of his friends. He was a sociable child and made friends easily enough, of course, but the best he could hope for was to sit by them in class or play together during recess. The time and cost of gas to drive to or from where he lived was too much for his mom or most of the other people in his small town. Summers were the worst, though... he almost never saw anyone that was his own age. He could, occasionally, visit his aunt and cousins, which made them good friends to him, but outside of that he had to learn how to keep himself preoccupied.

It was pretty quickly that Mike found exactly what thing he could use to keep himself happy and busy no matter how lonely things got.... Music. Unfortunately, the lack of contact with others his age caused him to become a loner – he just never learned how to interact with others very well once he was too old for a simple 'hi' to be grounds to be friends with someone. He soon found that he didn't have the patience for other people his age and adults simply dismissed him as an annoying kid. This was very upsetting for the growing boy, but eventually it stopped bothering him. As long as he had a guitar and his dog, he felt invincible. Nothing could make him happier.

His mom couldn't afford lessons, though, so he had to learn on his own and learn on his own he did. Early on Mike became very determined to achieve what he wanted, so when he was in town he would look at books that had music lessons and information. In time he even was able to start song writing, taking poems from schoolbooks and putting them to music before he soon began learning to write his own lyrics as well as the music to go with them. 

* * *

When he was about sixteen Mike noticed that some rather unsavory looking people were moving into the 'neighborhood'. There were no houses around the Nesmith home, but shady figures could be often seen hanging around near the property. Over time Mike was able to determine that there were not one, but two new gangs in the area and neither groups of people seemed to have a high moral code. They probably picked the area because it was so far away from town, but close enough to make their 'activities' easier. They could have face-off's without any interference from the cops and as a bonus there was a nice little lone house to prey off of just for fun. For the two Nesmith's it was a simple case of very bad luck. What was even worse was, thanks to their financial struggle, it was impossible to move out any time soon – they were forced to be sitting ducks and hope for the best.

Shortly after his sixteenth birthday, Mike's mom actually gave him a gun. It wasn't a large or fancy weapon – a simple hand pistol which was good for not much more than self defense, but it was better than nothing. With the help of Mike's aunt, his mother managed to teach him how to use it efficiently, along with some other basic techniques of self-defense. Mike was always told to sleep with the gun under his pillow and have it close to him at all times. That was the year that Mike's childhood died.

At times, usually when Mike was at school and his mom at work, one or both of the gangs would break into their peaceful home and steal whatever seemed interesting. It started with petty things such as money out of a wallet but turned into absolutely anything. They never ended up taking much – the Nesmith household didn't even have much - but by the time the family would return there would be a mess left behind and food or random items stolen. It was at least a slight blessing that they usually broke in when nobody was home. They would even leave Frak, who generally was put in a single room for his safety, unharmed. At times the thugs broke in at night and Mike merely stayed quiet, pretending to be asleep as he would wait for them to leave before checking on his mom. It was pretty obvious that the dregs were more focused on the thrill of thievery and dealing with each other then the occupants of the house. Still, to be on the safe side Mike always made sure Frak was in his room so the poor aging animal wasn't in the wrong place at the wrong time.

This wasn't to say that the thugs were harmless – every single one was a cold blooded killer. Mike had a feeling that these guys were dangerous and that he and his family were just lucky so far. That hunch was all but proven to be true when one day there was a shoot out between a few members of the two of the gangs right outside of their home. Mike knew, as he sat at the window watching a group of men kill every single person on the 'opposing side', that though the thugs weren't necessarily interested in the inhabitants of the house, they would certainly have no qualms killing anyone.

Out of necessity Mike quickly learned to adapt. He established a routine immediately after realizing just how much danger they were in. He would get up early every morning and make sure everything was safe, often taking trips around the property and checking every room to be sure that there were no nasty surprises. After that he would leave for school at the last moment, usually showing up late, and coming home as quickly as possible to minimize the time he was away. When home he always remained vigilant, making sure neither gang tried to pull anything funny in the house or on the inhabitants. It was around now that his mom had to usually work overtime, which Mike actually counted as a blessing. With her out of the house he had less to worry about, and during this time he worked on learning how to fight even better- not just defense but offense as well.

For Mike's twentieth Christmas/birthday present his mom knitted him a hat. It was Mikes favorite color – green - and it was knitted in a way that even in Texas weather it was comfortable. At first she felt guilty, being unable to afford anything better and even having to only give him one gift for the two occasions but Mike managed to convince her that he genuinely loved it. He knew the time, effort and love she put into it, despite the hard times they were having. He cherished that hat, and no amount of gold or gems would ever match it's worth to him. This was Mike's last truly happy memory for over a year.

* * *

It was less than a month later that she got very ill. There was no warning and it got very severe, very quickly – not even the doctors could offer much help. All Mike could do was sit to the side, hoping she would get better but as every day went by she only seemed to get worse and the doctors only got more perplexed. Since now Mike was twenty he was already out of school and could help around the house better then he could when he was younger. He was the primary caretaker of the house – he cooked, cleaned, maintained the house, and did anything else that he could all while taking care of his mom and protecting the family. As luck would have it, both gangs recently got new leaders around this time and both were getting even more violent – now not just towards each other but towards the lone Nesmith family as well. Mike figured the gangs probably wanted to beat the other gang to claiming Mike's house, after all it was in a prime location away from town and offered a pretty decent hide out. Unfortunately for them, and for the Nesmith's, they couldn't afford to move or they would have long ago. More then once Mike would be in the middle of the road in front of his house, staring down some thug or two and often it would escalate further than being a staring contest. He would never forget the first time a bullet he fired pierced the flesh of another human being – the cry of pain and the splash of blood that _he_ had caused. However... it kept his family safe for another night, at least, and that's all he could hope for. Unfortunately one thing Mike _couldn't_ do was slow the rapid deterioration of his mom's health, which was dropping faster every day.

When the young Texan was only twenty-one, everything changed. After a year of rapidly worsening illness, his mom was barely hanging on at all. The once radiant, energetic women could no longer move on her own and didn't even have the energy to talk. She knew she was dying – there was no bouncing back out of this. She tried to hang on, for Mike's sake, but it was getting to be too much. The doctor's couldn't even figure out what she had, let alone find a way to cure her, and by now they could do little more than offer medication to make her more comfortable. At least she was able to see exactly what any mother could hope to see... her son, the little baby she raised from birth, was growing up to be an amazing human being. There were no words that would ever be able to say how proud she was of him, though she had a feeling he knew. Ever since he could only crawl he wanted to always help her with anything – from chores to jobs his mom was trying to do he always helped. She couldn't say she was really surprised at the grace in which he took over the tasks of the house – in a way it seemed he was a natural born leader. From the second she got ill he took over even the most mundane tasks such as taxes and bills. No mother could be happier then to see her son thrive into such a responsible young adult... he took everything in stride and made the best of what he could – even with the lingering knowledge that she wouldn't make it out of this.

It was late spring that Frak died and this saddened the Texan a lot. For fifteen years that dog was his best friend and companion. As children they'd play tag, wrestle in the mud or cuddle when a scary storm made the house loose power. Even as they both aged Frak was always at Mike's side and helped out however he could, even if all he could do was give comfort. But now... he was gone and Mike was in this alone. The silent blessing, however, was that the dog lived a long and happy life before he died peacefully in his sleep, instead of the way Mike always feared at the end of a gun.

Only a week after having to bury his friend and companion, Mike had to deal with an even worse loss. Mike would never forget this day, no matter how hard he tried to run from it.

* * *

Michael was putting away the last of the dinner dishes. He hadn't eaten much and most of the food ended up in the refrigerator... his stomach was in knots all day and he had no idea why but it caused him to have no appetite. In fact, he had a very bad feeling for days now, but tonight it had gotten to the point that it was almost nauseating. He knew he should have eaten more – it was important to have nourishment when you had to remain at peak alertness at all times – but today he just couldn't stomach it.

After everything was cleaned up the raven headed into the living room and picked up the book that he had been reading. He hoped that reading could put his mind at ease for at least a little while... his mind usually wandered when he was quiet and alone but it was worth a shot even if only for a short while. Normally he could always focus on his music but today nothing – not even his music – could pull his mind away from what the doctors had told him. The doctor who came by earlier that afternoon informed him that his mother was deteriorating at an extremely rapid rate and that her estimated time left was less than a month. She was, at least, comfortable and at home, as no hospital could change what was happening to her, but there was no getting better from this. In fact her body was in such a weakened state that any excitement, be it good or bad, could very likely be too much for her.

Mike's brooding about all of this was interrupted as he heard something right outside. His brow kitted a little bit in suspicion. That could possibly be an animal, sure... but he doubted it. As little as he wanted to admit it, he knew exactly what, or more accurately _who_ , made that noise. He grabbed the handgun from the drawer of the side table next to him and silently crept to where he had heard the noise come from. Using the gun to part the blinds he peered out of them, seeing something moving in the darkness. It seemed too large to be a simple leaf (as he really wished it was) and too certain in it's movements to be an animal or his imagination.

Then a sound came from another nearby window. His head snapped over towards it's direction, glaring at it as if that would make the problem go away. He didn't want a fight tonight – not now, not here. After what the doctor said about his mom, he just didn't want to have to deal with that. Before he had even a chance to step towards the window a new sound came from the back out the house... inside the house. Mike felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine – not out of fear for himself, but for his mom. _'Please, no... not tonight. Not now...'_ Somehow he doubted his silent prayer would be answered. As much as he wanted it to be his imagination and nerves, he knew better to believe in false hope like that. One needed to prepare for the truth, not hope to change reality. So silently he went to the back room and peered around a corner and sure enough, there was a man from one of the gangs inside of the house. _'Dammit...'_

But now another noise came from the front of the house. Confused, Mike went back to the front, wondering why the same gang would send two people in from opposite sides like this. Once he moved swiftly and silently to the front room again he noticed it was a man from the other gang... _'Shit._ ' A simple break in, which would be probably be annoying but harmless enough, had just turned into something very, _very_ dangerous. Both groups seemed to have decided on breaking into the house at the same time – something the Nesmiths had luckily not had to deal with until now. Any time either of the two groups saw each other it would turn into a power struggle and fire fight and now they were in Mike's house with Mike and his mom right in the middle. Sure, Mike could hold his own with a gun, as much as he hated having to use it, and he could probably at least survive long enough until police arrived. Unfortunately his mom was there and there was no way he could guarantee her safety.

It was very clear that Mike needed to get his mom out of here. It didn't matter if those bastards burnt this place to the ground, as long as he and his mom got out safely that's all that mattered. Lives couldn’t be replaced, property could be.

Before either man saw him Mike slipped into his mom's bedroom and closed the door silently. In three long, quick strides he was at the window on the opposite side of the room, peering out of it. It would seem that it was low and large enough for him to get his mom out with little stress on her, as long as he worked carefully and took his time – unfortunately time wasn't something he sure he had much of right now.

Sure enough, as he was turning away from the window he heard gunshots go out in the house. The sound seemed almost deafening but it wasn't something he wasn't used to by now. He pushed it out of his mind  - he needed to hurry and get his mom safe so worrying about whatever the thugs were doing was the least of his worries as long as they stayed out of this room.

Unfortunately the fates seemed to be against that idea. Before Mike could turn to grab his mom a large man crashed through the bedroom door, whether it was an accident or he was forced through Mike wasn't sure and didn't care. Mike tried to put himself between the man and his mom as the thug stood and looked around to get his bearings. The sight that the man was met with was a very angry Michael glaring daggers at him – this was a man Mike had a few dealings with in the past and never in his life did Mike want to shoot somebody more than he did right now. So much for making a smooth escape, it seemed.

The guy grinned darkly, his brawl temporarily forgotten as he walked over to Mike and took him roughly by the jaw with a tight grip, shaking him a bit from side to side as he taunted him, “Awww, lookey here. Mr. Nesmith and his sick little mommy.” He laughed as he let Mike go with a shove, causing the younger male to almost stumble. Mike stayed on his feet, though, with an even harder glare as he tried to keep his temper for his mother's sake. It took a few moments to collect himself and figure out the best words to say, and when he spoke them venom dripped from each syllable with an accent so strong it was nearly hard to understand and anger even stronger. It took a low, slow voice to prevent himself from shouting, “Just get out of this room. I don't care what you take, I don't care if you kill each other. Just leave us alone.”

Before the man could answer the other man entered the room, curious to know where his opponent went. He saw Mike and his enemy, though had no idea who Mike was, being a somewhat new recruit. As such he didn't care about the two innocent people in the room – escape or die, it was their own problem, so he was more than happy to start the fight right back up.

Time passed by in slow motion for a few moments. The bastards actually started drawing guns in the room! As much as he wanted to, Mike couldn't enjoy the luxury of gawking in disbelief – he had to act fast lest they both be shot dead in the crossfire. Right now the options were either get shot in the room, or his mom may die of the stress on her body from being quickly moved. Neither of these options were very good but Mike would be damned if she died of a bullet from one of these assholes so he had to take a chance. Carefully but quickly he wrapped his arms under her frail shoulders and legs to move her out of the room. It was sad to feel how light and thin her body had become over a single year but he wasn't worried about that right now.

It was clear Mike make the right choice because the last thing he saw as he left the room was a bullet piercing right through the mattress where his mom had rested just seconds before. Had he not moved her, she'd have been killed right on the spot. He moved her to the couch, feeling her breathing become labored as he held her and only then did he finally hear sirens outside. Like the cowards they were both thugs left through the very window Mike had hoped to escape from.

Now alone Mike looked around. The house was in absolute shambles – there was broken furniture littered everywhere and bullet holes riddling the walls. There even looked to be blood spotted here and there... it seemed like there was a bit more of a fight then he had imagined. He stood and glanced in his mother's room, seeing the damage left in there – the tight space caused them to make even more of a mess. And there was more than one bullet hole where she and Mike had been – It would have been a terrible way for them _both_ to have died had they stayed in the room.

But right now, none of that mattered – it was in the past and Mike had learned over his years that the past didn't matter, all that was important was to live in the present. Learn from the past, sure... but live in what was happening right now, and right now his mom was... she was doing very bad. Mike walked over to her again and checked her breathing and pulse, finding that both were weak and shallow. This might have been an average night to him, but to her this was far too much to handle. Mike wasn't stupid so the realization of what that meant dawned on him immediately and he could feel his heart catch in his chest. There wasn't even anything he could do.. this was inevitable and would have honestly happened within a couple weeks anyway... but that didn't make it hurt any less. Those the illness was killing his mom and those bastards who plagued them for years finally gave the final blow and now all Mike could do was kneel there in the living room, holding onto her as he waited.

By the time the police finally entered the house, she was gone.

As it turned out a late-knight traveler heard the shots and called the police – knowing about the gangs and the Nesmiths the police got to the little house as quickly as possible but it would seem that it was just not quick enough. Mike didn't really care, though, his mind was too clouded with emotion. He was found kneeling next to his mom, who was comfortably lying on the couch. Nobody had seen the boy look so numb and pale, and there was at least one officer there who'd seen the kid grow up. That told them that there was something seriously wrong, and knowing about his mom's condition they could only guess. One of the officers stepped over and gently checked for a pulse... sure enough there was nothing. The look Mike gave him told him he didn't need to say a thing... the boy knew.

After that the police did what they had to do around the house as a couple officers, who had been a little closer to the Nesmith family, prodded gently for any information they could get. At first Mike didn't say a word but just as the officers were about to give up Mike decided to speak and... honestly they sort of wished he hadn't. His voice was so numb, emotionless and scarily calm it actually sent a shiver down the youngest man's spine. Most people would be sobbing or screaming in anger but Mike seemed incredibly sober, relating every detail in outstanding clarity from the moment he heard the first noise in the front of the house. Everyone knew Mike was a strong, levelheaded individual but even now he was putting forth more strength than they thought a person his age could even have.

Once everything was said and done, the police offered Mike a place to stay for a while rather than the torn up house but, as they expected, he declined. Soon someone came to pick up his mother's body and within an hour he was once again alone.

The next morning the sun rose to see a broken building which was once a loving home. Not a soul stirred save for the one lone inhabitant who sat in a chair of the wrecked room that was formerly his mothers. Those gentle rays of sunlight got to be the unfortunate witness of something that had never happened in the full twenty-ones years of Mike's life... Michael Nesmith cried. He cried harder than he'd ever known somebody could ever cry. His sobs wracked his body for at least an hour straight, making his breathing harsh and broken.

Inevitably that sadness gave way for anger. This wasn't unusual for the Texan but today the anger he felt was hotter then he ever felt it before. He stood and cussed loudly into the silent morning, his fist slamming into the once sturdy wall next to him, adding another hole to its surface. The blow nearly broke the young man's hand but he didn't care, he didn't even feel it – his emotional anguish easily trumped any amount of physical pain he could feel right now.

“It's my fucking fault! God dammit!” He kicked a nearby dresser, sending it to the floor with a loud crash, parts of it splintering off, “I should have known not to move her! I fucking killed her!” He kicked the wooden chair that he had just been sitting on, sending it hurtling into the wall behind it and shattering it into pieces, “I shoulda been able to protect her! I shoulda been able to save her!”

With that he screamed more profanities and anguish at the top of his lungs into the no longer still morning, demolishing the rest of the furniture in the room with no concern about his own well being. It left him bruised and sore and he may have beaten himself to death had his anger not turned to a mirror. When his fist collided with the reflective surface it shattered and sprayed him with shards of glass, tearing up his hand and wrist. The pain finally knocked some sense back into him and his anger quickly dissipated like a drop of water on a hot metal plate. He stared at his heavily bleeding hand for a few seconds before sinking down to the floor as silent tears streamed down his face. The most he could think to do before his exhaustion took over was taking a shirt that was on the ground and sloppily wrapping his hand in it.

By then his outburst caught up to him and he was too exhausted to get up. He knew that with his hand bleeding as badly as it was, he really shouldn't allow himself to fall asleep but at that moment he truly didn't care. Whether he lived or died it made no difference... all that mattered was the comforting embrace of sleep, cradling his bruised and battered body and allowing his mind to finally rest for the first time since this all started.

Mike stayed a sleep for some time before he finally woke up. The first thing he noticed before even opening his eyes that he was more sore then he'd ever been in his life, his hand stung terribly, and he was very light-headed. He opened his eyes and looked down at himself, noticing that the shirt he wrapped his hand in was saturated in blood. He was silently thankful that the cuts weren't as deep as they possibly could have been and they weren't through any vital arteries but it was clear that they were serious nonetheless. But at the same time... part of Mike silently cursed himself for wrapping it up at all – he was well aware that the shirt was the only thing that stopped him from bleeding to death during his nap and though he didn't necessarily want to die... he couldn't say he had been exactly adverse to the idea either.

But all of that was over and done with... He survived it all so that just meant he needed to continue to survive. From this point on he needed to start his life anew so carefully he stood up, cradling his hand, and made his way for the bathroom. Mike felt imbalanced, thanks to the blood loss, and though he'd never admit it, maneuvering through the mess he had made was a lot harder than it should have been. He lost his balance a few times but he made it without tripping and soon enough managed to get into the one room of the house that wasn't destroyed. Gingerly the raven peeled the bloodied shirt off of his hand, tossing it to the side of the room. His hand barely looked like a hand at the moment – there was fresh and dried blood all the way up to the wrist and little sparkling flecks glistened from the mirror that imbedded itself into his skin. In the back of his mind it was almost surprising how little he was bothered about his own injury but he truly didn't care. He simply turned on warm water and let the soft flow of liquid wash away the blood. He carefully picked all of the bits of glass he could see and feel before he scrubbed away the dried blood as well. With that he cleaned himself up a bit, and changed into clean clothes before taking out the first aid kit and properly bandaging his hand with gauze, leaving his fingers unwrapped. There were scratches and cuts on them but they weren't too bad and he would rather have use of his hand.

With all of that finished Mike made up his mind on what to do next, so he started to pack. He packed slowly, taking his time as he decided to what to take with him and what to leave. He didn't have very many important possessions, so by the time he finished at sunset, he only had two small suitcases worth of stuff in the back of his car. The final thing he packed was his guitar.

By now the sun was set and the moon got to see the conclusion of the day's activities. The broken young male made a final round through the whole house, checking every room and making absolutely certain that there was nothing he felt he needed to keep and that he was ready for his final goodbye with this place.

Satisfied, he stood in the doorway and took one last, long look at his childhood home. He remembered the good days when he was little... he looked and he didn't see a broken house riddled with bullet holes... he saw himself chasing or being chased by Frak, getting under his mother's feet as she tried to clean. He could see himself running around with a stick, pretending it was a horse as he played cowboys with his cousins. He glanced to the kitchen and could see himself holding a bowl to help his mom cook. But those days were long gone... the memories dissipated as he took a deep, careful breath and grabbed the green wool hat from the table next to the door. He stared at it long and hard for a moment... She made this the last year she was healthy... in fact this was the last gift she was ever able to give him. That was a good year – a happy year. Sure, the gangs were a problem even then but he and his mom had been doing alright and they had plans on ways to save money and leave this godforsaken place. This hat always meant a lot to him but now... now he cherished it even more. He placed it firmly on his head as he turned to leave. Before stepping out of the house, however, he grabbed the matches which were also on the table, and lit one. He dropped it behind him and started walking forward, never looking back. He felt the heat that erupted and knew the fire ignited the gasoline that he drenched the house with.

Careful not to look at the source of the new light source Mike got into his car and drove away. He wouldn't let himself remember that building as the lonely building it was for the past year, he wouldn't let himself remember it as the broken mess from the past day and he wouldn't remember it as the ball of flame that consumed it now. That flame burnt the scarred walls and bad memories. Mike would only allow himself to remember his house – his home- as the happy place from his youth. There was no going back anymore, only forward. And though he didn't know where he was destined to go, he would follow the road wherever it took him and make a new life wherever that destination might be.

Mike drove non-stop on a full tank of gas, wanting to get as far away from his past as he could take himself. He was jobless and homeless with barely any money but he just kept driving, turning whenever he felt like he should and paying no attention to any sign that might inform him of where he was. When Mike ran out of gas the first time he was lucky enough to be by the only gas station for miles but of course a gas station in the middle of nowhere wasn't really a place to start a new life, so he filled up again before returning to the road. Eventually that tank ran dry as well, but this time he actually was in civilization – California, to be exact, though he wasn't sure where. He was mildly surprised at how quick it had been to get here but at the same time he hadn't stopped at any point outside of filling the tank up once so it wasn't too surprising. California wasn't exactly the place a lone Texan to really feel at home at, but it's where he ended up so after a short debate with himself he resolved to rent a hotel room and get some rest, as he hadn't slept since he passed out from his outburst. Just because he still felt somewhat numb there was no reason to risk his life and the lives of others by driving on no sleep.

It took a couple attempts but eventually he found a hotel that he could afford so he rented a room and brought his stuff inside. Finally he took a shower and very much enjoyed it, having not realized how filthy he had been feeling. With that he changed his bandages, shaved, and returned to his car. He decided that it would be a good idea to refill the gas tank and find something to eat, as little as he wanted to eat, before he went to bed. He got in, stuck the key into the ignition, and....Nothing. The car revved the starter a few times sounding terribly sick but that was it. Miked cursed quietly to himself and sighed in frustration, trying again and getting the same result. With a grunt he got out and popped the hood – though he did know how to work on cars, the idea of trying to fix one with his hand in the state it was in didn't sound very appealing at all. In a stroke of luck (though it probably couldn't really be called good luck) it turned out that he wouldn't have to work on anything after all... the car was dead. It was never a very good car and it was in rough shape when he originally got it, but after this non-stop drive it zapped the last of the life from the car completely. It was most likely repairable with the right money or know-how but it wasn't really worth it and he didn't have the money _or_ know-how to deal with this thing. So with a sigh of aggravation he left the keys in the drivers seat and made sure that there was nothing he would want to keep in the car. With that he took the license plates off, tossing them in a dumpster. If anyone wanted this thing, they could have it, because at this point it was junk to him.

Finally Michael was able to get a small stroke of good luck for once when he noticed a bus stop that was nearby. Well, that was better then nothing so he caught the bus and sat down, feeling incredibly out of place. He was a thin, pale skinned, dark looking kid with long hair and a weird green hat... needless to say he didn't really fit in the Californian scene but despite a few strange looks, nobody said anything to him.

A few stops later a little old lady boarded the bus. She seemed like one of those nice caring people that would always bake her neighbors sweets and treats just to be nice. Unfortunately all the seats were full and nobody seemed willing to give theirs up. Mike, a man raised to be a gentleman and respect elders, couldn't believe their selfishness so stood and gestured to the seat, “Ma'am, you can sit here if you'd like.” His accent was strong, yes, but it wasn't as heavy as when he was angry so though even more out of place, it was easy to understand.

The little woman smiled warmly, “Oh why thank you, young man. That's very kind of you.” She took the offered seat and didn't seem to be in the slightest phased by his looks or accent, and Mike couldn't help but noticed that she smelled somewhat of cookies and cakes. Normally that would be very nice but it only reminded him of just how hungry he was, “I'm Mike Nesmith... Do you bake Miss...” The nice lady smiled and looked up to Mike with a nod, “Ms. Purdy, and Yes, I do. Can you cook, Mr. Nesmith?” It was always nice to see a well mannered young man so she was more than happy to engage in conversation. Mike nodded a little, “Yes, well... I do. I, well... I don't really have a kitchen right now, but I can cook very well.”

“No Kitchen? Why is that, Mr. Nesmith?” The idea only could make Ms. Purdy frown though she could take a few guesses. Though Mike held his emotions very well, something was clearly fresh on his mind and it wasn't good, whatever it was. Sure enough, Mike only shrugged in response, clearly avoiding answering in full, “I'm looking for a house right now. I moved recently but didn't set anyplace up, first.” The lady seemed nice and genuinely concerned but there was no way he was going to explain what happened in the past few days – he wasn't a social person to begin with and his business was his own, especially after the past few days.

The answer seemed to sadden Ms. Purdy but a few moments later her eyes seemed to brighten, “Oh! My landlord has a place. It just opened up because the prior tenants moved. It's a very nice place and the landlord is very reasonable with pricing. I'm sure you could afford the place with a few roommates, the only thing is no pets are allowed.”

Mike nodded and though he didn't smile, he seemed to at least get a little brighter at the idea, “That's great, where is it?”

For the rest of the bus ride, Ms. Purdy told him the address and some things about the place. The house in question was a nice little beach house which could comfortably hold one to four people with plenty of nice neighbors. The landlord was Mr. Babbit and he was mostly a pretty nice guy. She gave Mike the landlord's phone number but shortly after that they reached her stop so she had to say goodbye. With that Mike took his seat again and ran over the information in his mind, turning the card over in his fingers as he looked at it. He could probably afford the place if he got a regular job or some roommates... Both of these options presented some problems, however... Getting a job was of course important either way but who was going to hire some long haired 21 year old Texan who was living in a hotel? On the other hand he had lived with his mom for so long he wasn't sure he could handle roommates – he still found people his age obnoxious and didn't have patience for most people. Heck, where could he even find anyone on such short notice to move in with?

Once again Mike's stomach growled and pulled him from his thoughts. He really needed to eat, he hadn't eaten in a few days and he was starting to feel it. All the talk about a place to stay distracted him from why he got on the bus in the first place and he could only imagine how many potential restaurants he passed up. Oh well, he disembarked a few stops from where Ms. Purdy got off – he was very sore and needed a good stretch so figured he'd just walk around now until he found something decent enough. A few blocks down a nice restaurant caught his eye and it seemed like it had the most reasonable prices of any others nearby so he'd go with this one, at his point he was too hungry to be picky.

At this restaurant it was one of those places you could order both at a counter or table, and choose any table to eat at, and there was some waitresses helping out as well. It was a pretty groovy place, all things considered. So Mike ordered himself some dinner, not getting much but enough that should fill him up for now, and sat in the most secluded corner he could away from anybody as he ate silently. He was running over all of his options and plans. He didn't really have a car anymore so he couldn't exactly continue driving again, and the cost to repair the piece of junk he had was far too much then would be in any way worth it. He couldn't even take it to a scrap yard because he knew the cost of towing would end up more then what he'd get. So, at least for now, he was stuck around here with no car and no job. He could afford a few days in the hotel and had some bus money but after that he was in trouble. Perhaps he could talk to this Mr. Babbit guy and see if there was any way he could move in and get time to get a job before paying rent. Ms. Purdy said he wasn't the most unreasonable landlord but had a strict side so that idea was a pretty hit or miss.

Mike finished dinner but didn't feel like leaving just yet. After all, after being stuffed in a car for days being in a hotel wasn't the best way to relax and stretch out, so he decided to order another bottle of coca-cola and sit back, letting his thoughts run off once more.

As what seemed to be becoming a rather annoying habit, his thoughts were interrupted by someone sitting down at his table. Mike looked up, genuinely startled and wondering who in the world would just sit at someone elses dinner table uninvited at a restaurant. He was on edge and worried his temper might break through if he was forced to sit near anyone, heck he even hated when people just sat near him on a bench uninvited and this was even worse than that! But the curiosity as to who would possibly do such a thing over rode his anger for the time being as he examined the person in question. The kid who sat down looked probably around Mike's age but maybe a little younger. He had long brunet hair but it was styled differently and this kid's eyes sparked with playful mischief. Mike could tell, though, that there was something more to that sparkle... something deeper. Whatever was behind that gleam of fun was dark and serious and... something Mike could relate to. There was clearly more to this boy then what met the eye and that spiked Mike's curiosity further.

The brunet acted as if joining somebody elses table completely uninvited was normal and though this would probably annoy most people and downright piss Mike off, it actually lightened Mike's mood for the first time in a week at just how bizarre it was. Mike could see the strangers eyes glance down at Mike's bandaged hand but to Mike's relief the kid didn't say anything about it, either deciding he shouldn't ask or deciding he didn't care – either way Mike was glad he didn't need to think of an excuse. With that the stranger just stared at Mike for a few moments up and down almost seeming to study him. Mike stared back, being no stranger to staring contests, but this was probably the first one in his life that didn't have malice behind it, just mild curiosity. Finally the kid spoke up, and what he said was the first thing to make Mike smile in what seemed like an eon... “Isn't that really hot to wear in this weather?”

  
  


  
  



	2. Micky Dolenz

**~Wanting to be, to hear and to see - Crying to the sky~**

  
  
George Michael Dolenz (Better known as 'Micky') had a very nice childhood... for at least part of the time. When Micky reflected back he could only smile about his early years. For a good while he was just an average, playful young boy – he'd go on adventures every day, which usually involved getting into things he shouldn't have and having to listen to his parents' lectures at least once every other day. In no time he learned these lectures by heart, as did his sister, Coco. Unlike most girls their age, she loved getting into the same things Micky did. Rather than dolls and tea parties she would rather help Adventurer Micky in his quest to defeat the dreaded, evil Bully from across the street and get the Golden Baseball back from the Monster’s lair. Then when the quest was triumphant she would duel him to a game of one-on-one baseball.

  
When he wasn't getting into trouble or exploring, Micky also learned to play guitar. He loved the idea of making cool sounds with such a simple item as a guitar. Music was always a fun alternative for him when he couldn't go do stuff. What was even more fun then guitar, though, was drums. He never let go of the guitar but drums was where it was at. They complimented his energy and that was something that would never go away.  
  
Micky's mother was always a loving, stay-at-home woman and was always there for them if her kids got into any sort of trouble and his father was a strong man who supported his family and made sure everybody followed the rules. Another family member was their little cat name Fusker – a black and white little trouble-making rascal. To Micky and Coco's eyes, little Fusker would usually be the dreaded monster, guarding the magical baseball glove and at other times the feline was their trusty wingless dragon, aiding in their fights.  
  
However, one day marked the slow end of Micky's childhood... it was the day little Micky found out that his Daddy had to go to war. Of course, this was horrible news, and the day his father left was filled with many tears and kisses and prayers for a safe return... but at first not much changed. Coco and Micky would still battle the mean Bully who was across the street and would still blame the mischievous Fusker if they broke something. They still would sneak fresh baked cookies while they were still hot and stayed up late at night past their bedtimes... but soon, things started to change.  
  
Micky had no idea why some weird guy came to live in his house about a year after his dad left. He wasn't told that his Mommy and Daddy got into a fight. All he was told was that 'Your dad is being mean and I need someone to help around the house.' That immediately raised red flags in the young boy's mind... somehow he knew this wasn't the full truth but he couldn't figure out what the truth was. He could tell this guy, Hank, wasn't someone to trust... something was wrong about him. After privately consulting Coco, he found that she felt the same but there was nothing they could do. Something was bad on the horizon – both kids could feel it but there was nothing they could do about it.  
  
Sure enough their lack of trust was well warranted. They didn't know it at the time but Hank was a vulture – he had seen that Micky's mom was weak with the pain of her loved one being away with the prospect of never returning. Like most vultures he was great at sweet-talking, getting her to trust him and feel like she needed him to help out with the family but then by the time it was clear he was toxic, it was too late and too dangerous to pull away.  
  
Within the first year of Hank coming into the family there were a number of drastic changes. For one, his mom had another kid. It was their dad's kid, of course... she only showed her pregnancy after their dad was shipped away, but it was certainly their dads. It was a baby sister and though Micky was fine with the new addition, it was weird... For years it was only Micky and Coco and now on top of their dad having to go away a new baby joined them? It was weird. On top of this Micky's mom had to work double, and soon after triple, to support the family. Three children wasn't easy to take care of and Hank refused to help out once he managed to dig his claws into the unsuspecting family. He spent a lot of money and didn't list a finger to make any. It was another stark contrast to usually having a stay at home mom and only one sibling with a dad who worked.  
  
Coco had been sent off to a fancy school, thanks to Hank, despite it costing as much as it did. Micky's mom could barely afford things as it was and this made it close to impossible but Hank refused to hear anything different. Coco was only able to come home on weekends and Hank even then tried to talk her into staying away. As for Micky's baby sister, she was usually sent to a sitter which wasn't nearly as expensive as the school but it was all that more money trickling away. It was pretty clear Hank was trying to push as much of the family away as possible to reap the benefits of what he siphoned out and took with nobody to get in his way, but that only made Micky wonder why _he_ wasn't in some fancy school or something. It became pretty clear, though, why not – Hank needed a punching bag, especially when he got drunk. Micky was still young so Hank held back, usually – just a slap here or verbal abuse there but no damage was left. But... Micky knew, something just told him that it was only going to get worse.  
  
It was no secret that young Mr. Dolenz needed to get a job – his mom needed the help and if he could support his own necessities that would only help his mom as well. Not only that, however, was the need to get away from Hank. Hank had somehow convinced their mother to letting him stay, despite it clearly being a bad thing – whether it was a psychological game or under threat, Micky didn't know. All he knew is he had to try to fend for himself to get away. Though he was only thirteen, Micky was still able to find some things to keep him out of the house. Volunteer jobs and helping at stores the family had known – he started off as a paperboy but worked into getting to do more from there. As soon as he was fifteen and legally able to get a real job, he did. He managed to get decent enough pay and hours thanks to the experience he already had and that's exactly what he needed.  
  
Through all of this, Micky's love for music stayed with him and if anything else, it grew with his age. Listening to his records was the newest way to pass the time without the rest of his family to play with. He would almost always sit in his room lost in his music, air drumming or strumming along with his eyes closed. He even occasionally played the regular instruments, despite knowing how much Hank hated it. It was pretty clear that Hank despised absolutely everything about Micky, though the boy never would figure out why and frankly he didn't care either way. He didn't exactly like the drunken leech, either, but there was nothing he could do about it yet. So instead he'd do what he could to keep Hank happy but dropping his music was simply not an option no matter what Hank thought of it.  
  
Unfortunately, shortly after Micky turned sixteen, he found out just how much Hank hated his music.... the hard way.  
  
______________________________  
  
Amazingly it had been a pretty good day at work, today, and Micky was feeling absolutely terrific. He hadn't even had to see Hank since getting home which was wonderful. So he bounded into his room and dumped his stuff on his bed before sitting himself behind his drum set which was nestled in a corner of his room, grabbing a part of simple yet nice sticks. He knew he probably shouldn't play – Hank was getting drunk and Micky had the misfortune of having to be home but hey... it was only 7pm so it wasn't like it was late. He'd go ahead and play a little while, that shouldn't cause an issue so long as he didn't do it for too long, right?  
  
So against his better judgment, he looked through his records and picked one he felt like playing along with. He set it to play very quietly and began to play along with the song. He was pretty quiet at first but about halfway through he started to feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. When that happened he usually should listen but again... he ignored it and kept drumming. By now the song wasn't really as quiet as it had been before but he didn't want to stop. The bad feeling grew but he just chalked it up to nerves.  
  
It wasn't nerves.  
  
As the song faded out the door to Micky's room burst open revealing a very angry, and very drunk, Hank. The door collided with the wall with enough force that something would have fallen from a shelf if this hadn't been a regular enough occurrence that Micky hadn't already learned how to prevent that. Normally what would happen next was a lot of yelling and maybe a very painful slap or two but usually nothing terribly... _bad_. But this time... it wasn't normal. Without any warning Hank rushed at Micky with more anger then the teenager usually recalled and with more steadiness then what would usually be expected by someone so dunk. Micky had tried to get away but he got entangled with his drum set and before he knew it, Hank was upon him and had a fistful of the boy's hair. Hank yanked Micky from the set which earned a pained hiss and this only seemed to fuel Hank even more – whether that fuel was anger or joy of hurting the boy, Micky didn't know. All he knew was that it was bad. He struggled and squirmed and tried to get away but it was no hope – Hank was much bigger and stronger then Micky and to top it off he was drunk and there was no stopping him.  
  
Hank grabbed the record from the turntable and smashed it over Micky's head, getting the plastic scattered all around the ground and littering the boy's hair. Luckily the spray of vinyl was able to give the teenager a split second to get away and he nearly made it to the door but he simply hadn’t been fast enough. One of his sticks hit in squarely in the back extremely hard and the pain was enough to make him loose balance, tripping over a discarded shirt on the ground before he could regain himself.  
  
Before he could push himself up Hank stopped him with a boot heel into the boy’s back, shutting the door to muffle the sound as he 'punished' Micky for playing the drums.  
  
___  
It wasn't till many hours later that Hank finally got tired and passed out drunk. Micky was bruised and bleeding... bad. His arm had been twisted in a bad angle at some point had pain shooting all up it even as he cradled it to his body. His leg felt like something was very, very wrong with it, but it didn't matter. Micky just limped downstairs and out of the house as quickly as he could. He needed to get away, somewhere, anywhere. He didn't care how badly he was bleeding or how badly his clothes were torn. He didn't care about the looks people would give him, they'd probably just think he was some dumb kid who got into a fight anyway. Hank had never been so vicious and deadly before, sure he'd been bad but this... Micky had actually feared for his life. And somehow... Micky just knew this was only the start of what was to come.  
  
Micky wandered down the street with ragged breath in almost a daze. The sun had gone down hours ago but he didn't live in a bad neighborhood so he wasn't too worried. Either way... nothing could beat the danger that was in his house right now.  
  
As he walked time just passed by in a haze; Micky was unable to focus on anything... the only things that was in his mind was the pain and shock and a distinct feeling that he was going to pass out any time now if he didn't find somewhere to rest and stop bleeding. Finally something snapped him out of his daze – a small movement caught the corner of his eye. He looked around and realized he was actually a pretty good distance from home and in a bit of a shadier street but still it wasn't too bad – he just needed to _try_ to keep his wits about him... easier said then done at the moment. He noticed then that he had been passing by a dark alley and there had been a movement that came from there. Common sense would have told him or anybody else to just move along as quickly as possible – it was stupid to be curious about a dark alley at night in a shady part of town. Of course in his current state he wasn't thinking as straight as he probably should be so instead of walking away, he leaned heavily on a wall at the entrance of the alley, “H-Hello?” His voice was weak and shook just a little but it wasn't from fear. Now that he snapped out of his daze it became that much more apparent that he needed to find a place to rest soon.  
  
A few moments passed before the figure in the darkness answered back, “Whoever it is, go away.” That made Micky freeze at the sound of the voice, everything else leaving his mind for the moment. That voice... it sounded remarkably similar to his own, just a little rougher and slower. Micky shook his head a little bit, trying to snap his mind out of it and attributing it all to the blood loss. He probably was just hearing things but one thing he was sure was that this guy's tone wasn't to be messed with.  
  
So with a deep of breath as he could managed he started to turn, but before he fully pushed himself off the wall the figure fully stepped into the dim light which trickled into the alley. The sight Micky saw caused him to freeze again and his eyes widened. This person.... he was a mirror image to Micky himself, as similar as an identical twin. There were a few key differences, however. One of which being his clothes were business casual as opposed to the hip clothes young people usually wore. His eyes were also dark – not as in color but as in he wasn't exactly a sweet, innocent person for sure. Oddly enough, though... Micky could feel something relatable in those eyes, though that might have once again been due to blood loss. Both men were equally amazed at seeing an identical doppelganger but the one in the alley had a better time at hiding the surprise.  
  
Neither of them spoke for a few good long minutes and it was then Micky who broke the silence. He knew he'd collapse if he had to just stand here any longer - he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker as time went on, “Um... My... My name is Micky...” He double stared back with bone chilling, sinister eyes. It gave Micky a small shiver to see such a cold, callous look on his own face. The double regarded Micky with scrutiny seemingly not realizing, or more likely not caring, about Micky's injuries. He regarded the boy as if debating whether to just leave or converse or worse (at least that was the thought in Micky's mind.) Finally he spoke, “Call me Baby Face.”  
  
That made Micky nod but he was unable to do much more than that. The wall he was leaning against was the only reason he wasn't on the ground and his vision was phasing in and out. Finally Baby Face seemed to actually acknowledge the blood and bruises, “Get into a fight did ya?” It was still a shock to the injured boy to hear his own voice speaking to him but he was getting over it. It was much more gravely sounding than his own – be it on purpose or not – and that sort of helped Micky ignore the similarity. He could only imagine how weird it would be if Baby Face spoke in a voice identical to his own. But that wasn't the question, so he shook his head – both as an answer and to clear his mind, “No... no fight.” A fight would entail he had actually tried to hit back. He had merely tried to lessen the injuries as much as he could so that wasn't really a 'fight' at all. He didn't want to go further though... if he let someone know he could be really up shit creek. Hank knew how to sweet talk anyone and could make himself seem very respectable. His word against the kid with daddy issues would be a million times stronger and then? Micky didn't even want to think about it.  
  
Baby Face waited a few more minutes to see if Micky would cough up any more information but when it was clear that wasn't happening he stepped forward, closing the gap between he and Micky. The drummer felt his muscles tense but honestly that was all he could do – he was a sitting duck and he knew it. Baby Face frightened him but who _wouldn't_ be frightened of a mean looking guy who was in an alley at night? But even besides that, Baby Face scared Micky more than even Hank did but he was in no position to protest as Baby Face strongly, yet not roughly, took Micky by the arm and helped him further into the alley, pulling him out of view of anyone that would see this. That scared Micky even more but he couldn't pull away if he wanted too.  
  
Baby Face didn't stop, though. He led (or more like half carried) Micky into a building with the door that was connected into the alley. It opened into a pretty bare room that had a few plain pieces of furniture in it. There was one door that led into a bathroom and another door on the opposite side of the room that was sealed off. It was most likely this was probably attached to a store or something but the store owner had no need or want for it. To be honest it was like a very bare apartment – clean and empty yet efficient for a place to rest. Baby Face answered the question Micky was about to ask before the drummer even opened his mouth, “I know the owner of this place. He won't mind and won't be back for a while.”  
  
With that he unceremoniously, yet still gently, plopped Micky onto the couch and went straight to the bathroom. A moment later he returned with a first aid kit and set it on the sofa next to Micky and sat across from him in a comfortable looking chair. Micky still didn't move, however, so Baby Face spoke up, his voice sharp, “Don't expect me to fix you up. Do it yourself or bleed to death but if you choose the latter then get out. I don't need to explain a dead body.”  
  
Okay... so he was actually allowed to clean himself up? That was... good. So after a deep breath he began to slowly fix himself up, judging his wounds. This had certainly been the worst Hank had ever gotten and he'd been pretty bad in the past. There would be scars left over for sure and he was pretty sure he leg was seriously messed up. But he tried not to think about any of that... for now all he could do was focus on bandaging up what he could, so he did.  
  
The whole time he could feel eyes boring down on him but he said nothing, hoping that any questions would be left unsaid. Unfortunately as soon as he was done Baby Face spoke up, “You didn't get into a fight at all, did you? Someone you know did this to you – someone who you can't fight back.” His voice wasn't as sharp but it was very matter-of-fact. He was certain of this and the accuracy of his assessment caught Micky off guard enough that he nodded, “Yea... Hank... he came to live with my family about six years ago. Sometimes he gets... well... usually it's just threats... it's never gotten this bad...” Shit why did he say that? Well... the surprise of Baby Face knowing exactly what had happened, probably. If Baby Face went to the police, though, there would be hell to pay but somehow Micky felt that the other man wouldn't go tell anyone and upon looking up and seeing that look in his eyes, Micky knew he was right. Instead Baby Face merely nodded with a sort of empathy in his voice and a short, simple, “I know.”  
  
That seemed to break the ice between them and Baby Face allowed himself to be a lot more talkative after that. And Micky figured that now that Baby Face knew what was going on, the details wouldn't exactly make any sort of difference. The two of them talked as Micky tried to regain some energy. He let Baby Face know more about what had actually been going on and Micky learned not quite as much about his doppelganger but he did find that Baby Face dealt with an abusive guardian for a while and after piecing some things together, Micky realized that the kid was getting into a life of crime as well and Baby Face reluctantly confirmed the fact. Micky had no intentions of going to the police, however... after all Baby Face saved his life. Had Micky not been able to get fixed up, who knows what would have happened. Eventually Micky returned home in the early morning to find that Hank had moved to the couch. Carefully he was able to sneak up to his room and straighten some things up before he passed out on the bed. At least he felt better, now... maybe not by much but he didn't feel quite so alone anymore. He had met somebody he could relate to and possibly turn to... he hoped. Either way... he survived the night. Now it was time to rest.  
  
______________________________  
  
It was only some time later that year that Micky had a tremendous stroke of luck. He managed to find a band that needed a drummer and this meant less time to be at home and more time around music. The whole while he kept in touch with Baby Face all that he could despite learning that the other was actively involved in a gang. It was a bit shocking but at the same time, somehow Micky didn't mind... in fact he felt all the more grateful that the criminal was the way he was with Micky – the drummer always had a place he could go with no questions asked and that was truly a blessing. Yes, Baby Face was dark and cruel but Micky never saw that side of him... he was sure if he ever made it on Baby's bad side it would be much worse than Hank but yet the criminal still made an active decision to help Micky. For that Micky was eternally grateful.  
  
There were even a few times Baby Face helped Micky even more then one would ever expect. Usually little things like a mysterious few bucks here or there to help with actually eating once in a while, or a few tips and tricks to erase scars or mend injuries. But sometimes... it was more. One time in particular Micky recalled being jumped in a parking lot. Baby Face had been stalking that part of town that night and came across the scuffle - before the drummer knew it, his attackers were limping away and Baby Face had nothing more than a slightly sore jaw. The fact the criminal put himself in harms way for somebody else would remain in the back of both of their minds... though neither mentioned it ever again.  
  
In time Micky developed daily schedule that almost never deviated...  
-Get up as late as possible, yet still way too early;  
-Make Hank something for breakfast before he gets angry;  
-Get ready for work;  
-Make Hank something for lunch later;  
-Rush to work barely on time (and sometimes late);  
-Finish work and head home, making Hank something for dinner before he gets angry;  
-Clean up from work and get ready for the evening;  
-Clean up the house and dinner dishes;  
-Rush to Bob's house to practice or do a gig;  
-Return home as quietly as possible – hopefully Hank is passed out somewhere;  
-Change into clean clothes if necessary and gather school supplies, then hurry to college night classes;  
-Get home and hope Hank didn't wake up, or else he gets mad;  
-Pass out in bed, fully clothed usually;  
-Catch a few hours of sleep, though usually closer to one or two before rinsing and repeating;  
-Fit in food, study and schoolwork on the go – usually during breaks at work if it's possible.  
  
Clearly this wasn't a very great life for a teenage boy but it was just what Micky was used to. He never considered himself an unhappy teenager, despite the fact he was often treated as a punching bag with his family damn near held at ransom for him to keep quiet about it. The way Micky saw it... it was what it was. Others had much worse lives and though he always had to walk on eggshells, Micky at least had a roof over his head, access to food, and was overall pretty happy. His job was easy enough and rarely stressful or draining, he was used to running on little sleep, and usually he was occupied enough to stay away from too much of Hank's rage. Life was life.  
  
Of course this wasn't to say he liked certain aspects of it. He hated when Hank got out of control. The drunken bastard would usually just threaten Micky but those threats were never empty. Plenty of slaps or punches were used to keep Micky in line but Micky shrugged those off like flies. However.... when something set Hank off – no matter what it might have been – there would be no stopping him. Micky did his best to avoid Hank when the man was the most drunk, as those were the times Hank generally could be set off easiest, but try as he might Micky could never evade it all. As Micky got older Hank's temper got shorter, which was only added on to the fact that Hank got more violent every beating.  
  
Luckily, Micky could usually fix these issues before they really resulted in any problems. Baby Face seemed to know tricks to make scars fade and certain injuries to leave no marks at all. Not everything could be hidden, but most of it could be.  
  
All good things come to an end, though... so eventually Baby Face and Micky had to part ways. It was about a year and a half after their first meeting when Baby Face broke the news. Their paths simply had reached an end... Baby Face had his own life to live and for Micky's good he couldn't know where or why but long story short in the future if they met again, to not trust him. Baby Face was a criminal after all and just because they had a past together didn't mean he could show weakness and let his personal feelings get in the way... heck there was even a chance he'd not even remember Micky. Micky could continue to use this little hideout when he needed it, but always be careful because if some other group of thugs found it when Micky wasn't here, there would be no protection from them. It was somewhat sad, but Micky understood – he didn't necessarily understand what Baby Face was doing or even why he wanted to live that sort of life but he understood that their paths simply had crossed and it was time for them to split again. That would never change how thankful Micky was to have met Baby Face, even if he could never really speak of him again.  
  
It was sad to say good bye for the last time – they had both helped each other a lot, after all, even if it wasn't completely noticeable. The drummer had no idea if they'd meet again and part of him hoped they wouldn't... he wanted to remember Baby Face for the tough but strangely kind criminal... not a cold, seasoned gangster. But for now he merely had to move on.  
  
Without Baby Face, life was still life. Micky always found it a blessing that his sisters never knew Hanks anger and he was pretty sure his mom didn't either. Micky never could piece together why... they were all from Micky's own father, but honestly it didn't even matter as long as he took the brunt of the force. Maybe it was simply he abused them differently – after all they were all too afraid to push him out of their lives. He hurt them mentally and Micky was just his preferred physical target. That's mainly why he stuck around, even despite being able to move out – he was afraid that if he did, somebody else he cared about would get Hank's brutality and possibly even worse. Maybe once Coco was done with schooling she could convince the others to get away but until them, Micky would have to stick around.  
  
Despite all of this, along with the small amount of sleep or study, he managed to keep his grades up... at least if it was an interesting class. Micky was one of those kids that couldn't concentrate in a class he found boring, even to the point of falling asleep in class (thank goodness college was more lax on that then high school and his professors were somewhat understanding). But if it was a class he found interesting... that was another story. Science, _all_ science, hooked his interest almost as much as music. Chemistry might have actually been his favorite but anything that was called 'science' intrigued him. Even the most basic little study would have him enthralled while the rest of the lass was half asleep. Had life turned out a little differently he may have even ended up a chemist. But life was not so simple.  
  
Years later Micky would think back to his teenage years with a sort of indifference. He never thought of them as bad per-say... but they weren't necessarily good either. Some people would think he had a terrible teenage life but life was life. Sure, nobody his age, or at all, should have to deal with what he dealt with but there was nothing he could do to change it years later and he did what he had to do. Most people may have become bitter but Micky wasn't like most people – he was always a fun loving person and nothing would change that, certainly not some drunk bastard. Some of the sincerity of his nature fell away but not all of it – he had a little more of a contemplative side and a little darker outlook on things near the end of living at home but he wasn't enough to kill his want to see things in a happy light. If anything, he had his rough youth to thank for finding humor as a defense mechanism. It could lighten a mood and hide his emotions – even take the sting off of something truly bad. If he was angry or sad or simply wanted to hide what he felt, crack a joke. Most people would buy it knowing his regular nature and those who didn't wouldn't be able to figure out what he was hiding.  
  
One day, however, was a day he'd never forget.  
____________________  
Micky was floating on the clouds, not a care in the world. He looked down and saw his mom, dad, Coco, Madelyn (his baby sister) and of course his sweet little Fusker. All of them were just... so happy it seemed. They were smiling and waving up at him as he floated by. He glided slowly over the back yard of his house and saw a young version of him and Coco playing in their favorite tree. He smiled at the memories, sighing a little as he missed such simple times.  
  
Suddenly something crashed into his stomach, knocking the air out of him as he plummeted to the ground heavily. His eyes shot open and luckily found himself at least safely in his bed. He then looked down and saw a large, old textbook lying on his stomach – oh... so that's what hit him. That made sense. A few seconds later he heard a slurred yell come from his doorway which hurt his still half asleep ears but he kept himself from groaning at the noise.  
  
“Micky! Get your lazy ass down here! You have things to do, boy, I'm tired of having to tell you!” The door slammed shut, rattling things on the shelves but nothing fell this time. Micky groaned to himself now that he was alone. He hated being woken up like this, though it was a common enough occurrence he wasn't shaken by it. He was more tired then normal, though... why was that? Micky didn't drink or have time for parties or anything, but then he remembered. He had a test the past night so all the studying finally caught up to him. With a groan he sat up, book falling to the ground before he stretched his muscles with a yawn. _'At least it was the last night of classes. I might be able to get sleep tonight. Maybe.'_  
  
So, first thing to do... Hank's breakfast. Micky stood and stretched again before he had to take a moment to pause, looking down quizzically at his baggy and wrinkled pajamas. He didn't remember changing into pajamas last night, though to be fair he didn't remember much at all after walking through the front door last night. Normally he wore his clothes to bed so having had the mind to change into pajamas caught him off guard a little but he couldn't dwell on his confusion for long as an angry shout seemed to shake the house, “Micky, don't make me come up there!”  
  
With an annoyed huff Micky headed out the door and down the stairs. When would this useless man learn to take care of himself? This was quite honestly ridiculous but he didn't want to test Hank's patience any more this morning, he was in a relatively good mood and didn't want to mess that up.  
  
As soon as he stepped foot at the bottom of the stairs his expression became blank, a look which he perfected with the help of Baby Face. He knew better then to look annoyed around Hank and even happiness sometimes annoyed the drunken bastard. Politely as possible he asked Hank what he wanted for breakfast and once the answer was spat back at him, as if it was his fault for Hank's hangover, Micky went to start preparing said meal.  
  
Quickly and quietly Micky prepared the food, making sure it wasn't too much lest he get blamed for wasting and not too little to get blamed for, somehow, trying to starve Hank. He of course didn't bother making anything for himself, having long ago given up the hope of eating breakfast anymore, or any full meal for that matter. As soon as the meal was prepared, served, and coffee pot started, he headed back up the stairs to the bathroom. He undressed and stepped into the shower for the short time in his daily routine he could relax. He let the hot water wake him up and soothe his tired muscles.  
  
Unfortunately, he spent a little too much time in the shower this time around and was already running about ten minutes late for work. There was nothing that could be done about that, though, since Hank always expected a hot lunch ready for him when the time came, despite the fact that Micky worked. So despite the fact he really needed to get going to work, he knew he would be much worse off if he didn't make that and make sure it was ready for the older man before he left. Nobody was going to be home today so there would be absolutely nothing to hold Hank's anger and hate back, and Micky really didn't feel like having to go through all of that (when did he ever?)  
  
As quickly as possible Micky got ready for work then rushed to the kitchen again to make Hank's lunch before pouring himself a large travel mug of coffee and nearly running out the door. The young man almost certainly broke a handful of traffic laws in his desperate attempt to get to work on time but it was a futile effort, as the clock in slip read fifteen minutes late once he managed to punch in. Almost immediately Micky felt a terrible feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, and the strange looks supervisors gave him all day wasn't helping that feeling in the slightest. Micky knew they had been looking for an excuse to fire him for months now and he feared he just gave them their chance. He was a long haired weirdo, after all – nothing more then silly teenage trouble maker. At least that was what their eyes could see – in truth Micky was a very good worker, probably one of the best the place had, but that didn't matter to them.  
  
Once his shift ended and he clocked out Micky turned to leave, hoping that bad feeling he had all day was just a fluke, but he should have known better because as soon as he was about to make it out the door a supervisor came up to him, pulling him to the side, “Mr. Dolenz, we need to talk.”  
  
That gave Micky a small shiver but he hid it pretty well. He needed this job more then anything right now, though. He couldn't loose it but what could he really say or do? He just let himself get led away from the main area of the building as to not be seen by customers as they held a private little meeting.  
  
“Now, Micky... You have been a great worker for the whole time you've been with us. It's rare to find an employee willing to work whenever is asked for as long is necessary.” The man paused and Micky held his breath, wondering how they were going to word the inevitable part that was going to follow. It was true Micky covered shifts more then anyone else, often cutting into the short amount of time he had to himself when it was necessary, but apparently it wasn’t enough, “But you've been late every day for a week, young man. True it's usually five minutes or less but that shows a lack of integrity. We've tried to look the other way, but today was inexcusable, Mr. Dolenz. I'm afraid we must relieve you of your duties here. You're no longer a member of this company.”  
  
Needless to say, Micky felt shocked. True, he had known this was coming, but that didn't make it any better and it certainly didn't make him need this job any less. Maybe he could just bargain with them, hopefully... “But, sir... I-” The older man waved his hand dismissively, cutting him off mid-word, “I'm sorry Mr. Dolenz but you must leave. You're not allowed on this property any more unless you are a customer. Now leave before we have to have security escort you out.”  
  
Micky's face turned dull and blank, one of the few times his true emotions bled through the happy exterior. He knew they didn't like him being a 'long haired weirdo' but he as still a hard worker and this was the first week since he started this job that he was ever late. He even made sure to volunteer to stay late as long as they needed for every day that he was late and they almost always took him up on that offer. They, like many adults, just saw no worth in young people and didn't want him 'hurting their image'.  
  
Well there was no use to it any more, might as well go out with a bang, right? His face went from being blank to feigned emotional hurt, his emotional shield back up in full force. If he had to go he would go out in style and everyone in the building would know about it. He took a couple steps back so the customers all could see him and luckily the place was packed right now which gave him an even bigger audience. He loved having an audience. With that he forced out a couple of crocodile tears, “Fine, I'll go.” He sniffled and threw the back of his hand up to his forehead, “I'll go into the cruel wide world, unable to pay for my food, unable to support my family.” He forced more show tears and a few deep sobs, burying his face into his hands. After a few moments of sobbing very loudly he looked up, face red and stained with tears, “How will I ever survive. More importantly... how will I ever be able to take care of my poor baby sister?!” With that he sniffled and gasped sadly and left with a flourish, every set of eyes in the room on him. He had certainly drawn a lot of attention and he was pretty sure he heard a few sad gasps at the last statement.  
  
Now, though, he made it to his car and let the display drop once he was sure he was out of view. He fired up the engine and smiled a little at his own performance. He put on quite a show and as dramatic as it was he was he was pretty sure most of the people had believed his act. Sure he stretched the truth some – he didn't need to pay for his baby sister's needs for instance, but nobody needed to know that. He dried the last of his tears, proud of all the fake tears he managed to pull out. He was getting good at this acting thing.  
  
But the pride with himself slowly faded as reality sunk in. As fun as that display had been, that didn't change the fact that he was without a job completely. He had no income and therefore no way to help his mom. She was struggling enough without needing to support him. Usually he used his paycheck on himself and whatever was left over went to her but now he couldn't do that... And to make matters worse with no school or work or money he was going to be stuck with Hank a whole lot more and that was not a good thing.  
  
But there was no time to dwell on that. He needed to get home to make Hank his dinner and get to Bob's place. There was a gig tonight so maybe that would bring in at least a couple pennies.  
  
Micky was able to make it him in good time and started Hank's dinner. The thought of having something for himself flirted through his mind but he waved it off, knowing he wouldn't have time for that. He was busy and besides, performing with a full stomach might have a bad outcome and he would rather not deal with that. Maybe after the gig he could pick something up but not now. After he finished cooking the meal he served it, noticing the human leech seemed somewhat sober. This was rare, but no less dangerous. After all, sober or drunk, he still seemed to hate Micky's guts.  
  
With that Micky cleaned the house as quickly as he could. It was amazing how much of a mess a single man could make and Micky didn't even have time to freshen himself up by the time he was done cleaning. Hank had finished eating by now and was flicking through channels on the television as he waited for Micky to clean up dinner dishes. Micky knew that he was technically supposed to do that as well as put away left over food but he was running late again and really didn't have time. Normally it wouldn't have mattered but they had a gig today and he couldn't let the whole group suffer like that. Hank didn't care, though, he just wanted Micky to do as told, “Boy! Get your ass over here and clean these up! Now!”  
  
With a hand already on the handle and turning it, Micky thought for a fleeting second he should just pretend he somehow didn't hear the man and leave, but against his better judgment he turned to face Hank. He knew it was a mistake as the words tumbled out of his mouth but his mouth was always ahead of his brain and he couldn't catch himself in time, “Couldn't you do them today? I really need to go.” His tone held a slight whine to it but the words would have been, to most people, relatively agreeable. Hank didn't see it that way.  
  
Without waiting for an answer Micky turned to go, hoping he could get out of the door before Hank could stop him again or more likely punish him for what he had said. The door was opened halfway and one of his feet was already making a move before a sharp pain appeared on his shoulder. Hank was already behind them and spun the drummer around violently, causing Micky to gasp in shock. Before he could really react Hank drew back a fist and smashed it into Micky's jaw, causing him to get flung back and slam into the door, making it shut violently.  
  
The first thought in Micky's head was the fact that would probably bruise. This normally wouldn't bother him, especially since he knew ways to help make a bruise less severe but he didn't have time for any of those things right now and what's worse – he had a gig tonight and didn't want the bruise showing. He grabbed his jaw and looked at Hank with wide eyes, honestly kind of surprised by the fierceness of the attack. He had expected maybe a slap or two but not that, “Wh-What'd I do?”  
  
Hank looked at Micky with the utmost fury though Micky really couldn't tell why. Hank grabbed Micky by the collar of his shirt, holding the younger man firmly though Micky knew better then to struggle, “Don't you _dare_ talk back to me, boy!” Once again Micky's mouth got away from him as a confused look spread across his face and the words sprang from his lips, “I-I didn't. I just asked you to-” His sentence was cut short as the air rushed from his lungs. Hank let him go and Micky grabbed his stomach where he had been punched, trying to regain his breath. He hated punches in the gut like that but at least the marks weren't noticeable there.  
  
It took a few moments but Micky managed to catch is breath and he straightened, looking at Hank and hoping that was it and he could go. Instead of hitting him again or scolding him more, Hank stared at Micky with an unbelievable amount of hate, “Get out.” That confused Micky quite a bit and he stared at Hank, his head tilting a little as he thought he heard wrong, “Wha-”  
  
“I said get out!” Micky jumped a little at the tone of Hank's voice, “And don't come back! If you return to this property I'll call the cops on you!”  
  
Wait... what? Micky stared at Hank, feeling like he was hit in the face with a brick. Hank was kicking him out? True Hank had threatened him with this before but he was always drunk in those times and never remembered the threat by the morning. But right now Hank was sober and knew exactly what he was doing and he knew Hank had the power as well.  
  
After a few more moments that seemed like eternity Micky made up his mind. _'Mom can't support me, so why not?'_ Just like before the shock of the situation dissipated into Shakespearean styled woe, Fine! I'll go! I'll go into the cruel, hard world. No home, no food, no _family_!” He raised the back of his hand to his forehead and leaned back, knowing Hank was too shocked by Micky's boldness to really react on his rage yet, “Please think of me in the cold nights as you eat your nice hot dinners as I'm left to scavenge for food like a dog!”  
  
With that he spun on his heels and bolted out of the door, shutting it behind him and immediately hearing the dull thud of a fist hitting the door right where Micky had been standing a second before. It was followed by pained and enraged cursing which made Micky smile very proudly to himself as he mumbled softly, “To fast for ya this time, huh Hankypoo?”  
  
Just like earlier in the day, though, reality once again came rushing back into him after the high from his spectacular exit. He glanced at the car but knew he couldn't take it. It wasn't his so he would get the police on him immediately once Hank saw it was gone and on top of that he didn't even have the keys on him. Looked like he would have to walk, which wasn't the first time and luckily it was only a couple of blocks but that didn't mean he had to like it. He sighed and walked away briskly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he resisted the urge to look back. He knew that this time, he wouldn't be entering that doorway after this gig. Even if Hank hadn't been completely serious, there was no coming back from that rebellion just now.  
  
As he quickly walked along his mind wandered away, the stinging of his jaw and throbbing in his stomach all but forgotten within half a block. It wasn't really clear if that was due to his mind wandering or just because he was so used to it and admittedly that wasn't a good thing. But that didn't matter, his mind was on more important things... things like, what was to become of Madelyn, Coco and his Mom? Coco still went to that fancy school but she would be getting out soon if he remembered correctly. However she was an independent young woman and around Micky's age so she could probably move away immediately. Maybe she could take Madelyn and convince his Mom to finally go too. Part of him was curious what would happen to his stuff. Would Hank leave it there and tell his Mom that Micky was busy which is why he was never home? Or was Hank at this very moment tossing everything he had to the curb? Would he ever be able to retrieve any of it again? Micky didn't have much in the way of 'stuff' anymore, Hank had broken so many of his things Micky learned to never bother with material items, but he still had some priceless things like pictures that he hoped to keep.  
  
Ugh this was all just too much. Micky shook his head, looking up to the house in front of him. He already was at Bob's house so he walked up to the door and knocked. The second his knuckles hit the wood he had, once again, a bad feeling in his gut like he had when he went to work and that frightened him. He assumed (hoped) that it was just nerves because of everything that had happened today but he was learning to trust his gut and had a feeling that he wouldn't be so lucky.  
  
Steve answered the door, his bass strung loosely around his shoulder with his performance attire on. He didn't seem too thrilled to see Micky but the drummer hoped that just was because Micky wasn't dressed right, but there was a spare outfit that he knew he could fit in so that shouldn't be an issue.  
  
Putting on his usual happy, hyper face he bounced in, the problems of the day as well as his gut feeling temporarily forgotten. Whenever he got to play music all of his troubles just melted away. It had been his lifesaver for years.  
  
Dick, the guitarist and leader stared as Micky headed into the living room. The drummer was about to go get the spare outfit when he noticed the look on Dick's face and stopped. He had seen that kind of look enough to know that he was thinking of something that would probably be pretty bad for someone, and in this case it was likely Micky himself. With his attention on that, now, Micky glanced around to the other members of the group in the room and noticed that everyone looked tense and serious, which while they were never the most fond group of men this level of serious vibe was out of the norm. The real interesting thing, though, was a figure in the corner of the room which caught Micky's eye. That figure was in performance attire, which was probably that spare outfit that Micky was going to wear, and had drumsticks in his pocket. Before Micky could inquire, hoping they just had another drummer for some reason, Dick motioned for him to sit, which Micky did. The happy, spunky smile of his faded and his voice became serious. A person could only keep a fake smile up for so long and today it was just getting to be too much. “What's going on?”  
  
Dick stared at Micky for a few more moments, his expression unreadable. Micky waited, keeping still and holding that serious look on his face despite feeling painfully anxious and truly worried. He knew that something bad was coming, and there was no denying it. He just hoped that it wasn't what he thought it was going to be. Finally Dick spoke up, “Listen, Micky... the thing is, you sing, we all sing, but I don't think your voice... fits. Besides, you're the drummer and drummers shouldn't sing.” Micky opened his mouth to protest or at least try to defend himself but Dick cut him off before he could get a single syllable out, “Also, you play drums, which is fine since every group needs a set. But then you start to fool around whenever we don't give you enough fills. Hell even when we do give you fills you screw around. We don't need that childishness in our group.” Once again Micky took a breath to object but was cut off, “Further-more, when you play guitar, you act like a fool. Every single time.”  
  
Finally Micky managed to take the break between Dick's sentences to speak, “But the crowd loves it! The audience is always ecstatic after I do my thing!” Dick shook his head, “I don't care. Your thing will keep us from ever being taken seriously.” Micky sat straight up, his voice raising a little in a mixture of anger and desperation, “But we're a garage band! No one will take us seriously if we fool around or not! Might as well have fun and see where it takes us!” Dick's voice was steady though he was clearly aggravated at Micky's protests, completely ignoring them as he went on, “We've decided it would be more beneficial to the group as a whole if we... changed some band members around. And by that, it means taking you out of the group.”  
  
Micky glanced over to the corner where that unknown guy was. The poor kid didn't seem to be very happy being stuck in the middle of this drama but it looked like Micky's hunch was right... he was Micky's replacement. They must have been planning this for a while and practiced with the guy behind Micky's back. It would explain why practice sessions were unusually short recently. Micky looked back to Dick with a blank mind and expression, too tired to try acting like he wasn't bothered. He lost his job, home, and now this, the only true love in his life.  
  
Micky had put on two shows already today and really didn't feel like thinking of another witty exit, not right now and not for this. Instead he took a different route – his face hardened and every drop of emotion was erased from view. This was something Baby Face had helped him perfect in their time knowing each other and it was the best he could do to keep himself together right now. He stood and started out of the house, keeping his eyes forward and body calm. One of the members, Harry, seemed kind of upset by this. He had always been a little warmer towards Micky then the rest and knew this stone faced Micky was incredibly rare. Micky was pretty sure he heard a soft 'sorry' as he passed by the guy but he didn't acknowledge that he heard it at all. Harry just felt guilty, that was all, so why would that possibly make Micky feel any better? He still hand a hand in this so what good would a 'sorry' do?  
  
Micky left the house without looking at any of them, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he made it outside into the humid California evening and began just walking. He knew he was going in the general direction of town but he didn't really have any plans on what he would do once he got there. He had literally nothing anymore. He couldn't go back to his house because at best Hank would kick him out again, but more likely Micky would need to be rushed to the hospital after Hank finished with him. The apartment Baby Face had given him was recently taken over by some homeless people and Micky didn't feel like fighting it out over a criminal's hideout, regardless if he'd win or not. He had no place to go.  
  
He felt... numb – everything he once had was gone all at once and the reality was crashing down on him now. He felt hot tears slipping from his eyes but what was the use in wiping them away, more just kept coming, silently, as he walked mindlessly down the road.  
  
After an hour or so of walking he found himself deep within the town. He was nearly ran over by a car and that at least was enough to pull him into reality enough to remind him that he was very thirsty. He supposed he should be hungry since he hadn't eaten all day but he wasn't, not with everything that had happened to him, but he certainly could use something to drink and possibly somewhere to sit down for a bit. He looked around to see if anything was nearby that could fulfill these needs and sure enough there seemed to be a nice little restaurant a few buildings down. It seemed to be a sort of mixture of sit down and fast food and more importantly it looked cheap.  
  
With the need to get something to drink ever growing he headed over and went inside, deciding he could at least get something to drink and rest for a little while as he figured out what he could do now. He went in and bought a coca-cola from the 'fast food' style line and looked around for a table to sit at. Most of the tables were full, well to be honest he was pretty sure all of the tables were full and none of them seemed like they'd appreciate a long haired weirdo just joining them. In the back corner of the room though, a table caught his eye. First of all, it only had one person at it as opposed to a full party and second of all, it had someone that looked to be about Micky's age and also with longer hair. He seemed to be kind of brooding at the moment but oh well, it seemed like his best shot unless Micky wanted to sit on the curb. What's the worst that could happen? He'd be told to leave? Not like he hadn't heard that a million times today. So carefully he maneuvered his way though the room and to the table, remaining seemingly unnoticed by the kid sitting there.  
  
Once he made it Micky pulled out a free chair and sat down opposite of the raven haired man. Now that he could see better Micky could tell the boy was definitely about as old as him though maybe a couple of years older. He had long black hair and his eyes held a darkness in them, not of color but Micky was almost sure he'd been through or seen something pretty heavy in his life. Outside of that, Micky couldn't tell anything which was kind of a surprise but at least it wasn't the same kind of darkness that was in Baby Face's eyes and it intrigued Micky but also told him to try not to overstep any lines (as if sitting at a table of a stranger completely uninvited wasn't overstepping anything.)  
  
Micky glanced down and saw the stranger's hand was wrapped in some gauze, only slightly cut up fingers poking out from the wrappings. Needless to say Micky was very curious but knew better then to ask. He may sit down randomly at someone elses table but he at least knew better then to ask about that sort of thing so soon after meeting, especially when he was lucky enough to not have been immediately booted from the table.  
  
In fact the stranger still didn't mention anything to Micky at all, let alone telling him to move or not, so Micky figured the intrusion may not have been minded too much. He stared at the man for a few moments, regarding him with mild curiosity. It didn't seem like this guy smiled a lot, yet something kind of drew Micky to him. Finally Micky's eyes found their way up to the green wool hat that rested on the guy's head. It looked heavy and very uncomfortable in the hot, humid evening so, deciding it was the safest topic to inquire about, he would ask about that.  
  
“Isn't that really hot to wear in this weather?”  
  
With that, he was rewarded with a smile, and he smiled in return. His first sincere smile all day.


	3. David Jones

**~When the world and I were young, just yesterday - Life was such a simple game, a child could play~**

 

David Thomas Jones was a nice kid from England. He was relatively average and likable, having been born and raised in Manchester, England to a somewhat large family. He had two sisters and brothers and was the youngest of them all. His parents were loving and supporting, his father being a strong and caring man and his mum a loving and supportive woman. The only flaw in this seemingly perfect family was his mother's illness.  
  
The Jones family was not rich by any means, in fact they were rather poor. The children never felt this fact when they were young. Though their parents couldn't afford for things such as school, their grandfather paid for it along with a number of other expenses to keep the family afloat and comfortable. Little Davy never realized that all of the money his father made went to his mother's medical needs, his grandfather paying for most of the rest.

 

Unfortunately for Davy, being the youngest of his siblings, shortest in class, and having a soft and feminine face often caused him to be somewhat picked on at school and by his siblings. Normally Davy could ignore it just fine, making jokes or getting people to like him with his humor so he made a pretty wide circle of friends relatively easily through his charm. There were always bullies, though, and due to Davy enjoying the school play and singing, that fueled those bullies even more. Sometimes these bullies got violent and very quickly Davy realized that when it came to these people, humor would not work. He developed a short temper and strong fist to protect himself against these mean people and soon enough he was able to even hold his own against most bullies that bothered him, his small frame aiding him in fights. Unfortunately that short temper that often protected him against bullies leaked into his home life. It only took a few quick belts for him to learn how to control his temper, keeping it towards bullies and not his parents, teachers or siblings.  
  
Davy loved his mum more then anything. After all she was truly the most kind, loving and supportive woman he would ever know. She supported his love for music and stage performance, letting him practice and show off for her for fun. Unfortunately when Davy was only seven she passed away. She had been sick with emphysema for as long as Davy could remember and finally it got to the point that her poor body could no longer fight it off. As much as Davy blocked that day out of his mind he would never forget one thing that happened.

 

It was just a regular day, his mum was bedridden for a month now but nothing else was particularly out of the ordinary. One strange thing, however, was the fact that all day she insisted that they had to remember to pay the electric bill on time. Nobody in the family could really figure out why she was so insistent on the electric bill when she was in such a bad state of health, but they would of course do their best to do as she said. That night she drifted away peacefully in her sleep and even through his grief and pain, Davy counted it as a small blessing that she passed away peacefully instead of in pain or a fit of some kind.  
  
A couple of days later Davy remembered what his mum had been insisting on so much. He knew his dad probably wouldn't be too worried about the bill through his pain but Davy felt that it would only be right to honor his mum's last wish. He went to where the family kept all of the bills and grabbed the electric bill from it's usual place to bring to his Dad. However he noticed there was something clipped to the bill – the exact amount of money to pay the bill and more importantly, a poem from Patience Song. Davy didn't understand at the time but a few years later he realized that his mum had known she was going to die. She knew she wouldn't make it through the night and wanted to be sure they would get her final goodbye. Once Davy truly realized this, years later after the event happened, he cried long and hard.  
  
Months after his mum's death, after the upheaval finally started to die down, Davy's dad realized he couldn't truly support everyone, even with help from Davy's grandfather. It was too hard to try to pay so many bills on top of working and taking care of five children. So, naturally with Davy being the youngest he went to go live with his grandfather, not that he minded too much. It was an adventure and he always loved that.

 

After Davy managed to recuperate from the tragedy of loosing his mother, David found that he actually really loved living with his grandfather. The man was just as loving and supporting as his parents and had enough money to make sure Davy had nice things once in a while just for fun. More importantly then all of that, though, was that he had horses. Davy had immediately fallen in love with the animal and it took him no time at all to learn how to ride and take care of the creatures. Davy's love for horses was so strong that his grandfather even gave him a hose as a birthday present. Of course this meant a whole lot more responsibilities. No longer could he just go to the stables and ride for a while before going home. Having his own horse meant early morning stable cleanings, afternoon rides, and long coat groomings in the evening. Despite the hard work it entailed Davy loved every second of it. When he was with his horse, or any horse really, he found himself unable to get angry even when things went terribly wrong. This feeling managed to mellow Davy's mood out, and though he still had a relatively short temper it was not as fiery as it had been before.

 

Davy pretty quickly made up his mind that he wanted to work with horses for the rest of his life but to his dismay his grandfather still sent him to school a bit more then what Davy thought was necessary. Davy hated it – he hated school and the school and homework that came with it. He hated studying and stressing over tests, he would much rather just relax and be one with his equine friends. The only thing that kept him going in school was plays and musicals that it allowed him to participate in. His grandfather always had a hunch that Davy had the knack for music and as he saw the boy grow so did his certainty that Davy would fit a musical field of life well. It caused him to push Davy towards that career path to become successful.  
  
However Davy didn't enjoy being pushed. Being told over and over to take his acting more seriously took the fire and fun out of it and soon it became more of a chore then anything else. He honestly loved acting and putting on a show for people – he adored singing even more then that but he wanted to do these things for his own enjoyment and if others liked it that was all the more better. To be forced to do it 'professionally' was taking away from that and he began to resent it. If success somehow came his way then he would certainly embrace it but if it never happened, he was happy with that too. Besides, Davy would rather work with horses then go into show business, but unfortunately his grandfather didn't share his way of thinking. His grandfather saw no potential of a livelihood with horses so he pushed even harder for Davy to become a success with acting or singing. Unfortunately he eventually pushed too far.

  
_______________

 

“Davy, you have really _got_ to make something of yourself. You have truly great potential, but you need to settle down a little first.” Davy's grandfather scolded the young eighteen year old for the millionth time, hoping that maybe this time it would get through the young boy's head.  
  
David on the other hand sighed and shook his head. They had been over this more times then he could even count, multiple times a day at this point and quite honestly he was sick of going over it, “I'm happy how I am now, Grandfather. Soon I'll earn enough money to move out and support myself and maybe even get my own horse. I'm happy with that.” Of course he knew that argument wouldn't work, it never did but he ran out of ideas on what he could possibly say to convince the older man. Sure enough he was right, “You are going to do something with your life, Mr. Jones. I am not letting you stay here to fritter your life away. If you don't do something soon, I'll do it for you, like it or not.”  
  
Davy simply nodded, putting an end to the conversation and returning to what he was doing. He knew it was no use to argue and he knew that his grandfather would do just like he said he would. Because of that Davy made a decision in that moment which he put into motion the very next day. He wouldn't let his life be dictated and controlled, be it for his own good or not. He was his own person and he wanted to be happy with his life and he would make or break himself and not let anybody else make his own life decisions. And so he bought a one way ticket to America.  
  
Davy figured that if his grandfather was going to push something on him that he didn't want, then he simply would leave the country so there was no way he could possibly be forced to pursue something he didn't want to do. He would go to America and at least try for a little while to fulfill his grandfather's hopes. If that happened to fail, which he admitted was pretty likely, he would continue his own dreams, possibly moving back to England and possibly not. Either way he would make sure only he was in charge of his own future. Admittedly it was pretty drastic but Davy figured it was the best bet to get a hold of his own life.  
  
When Davy told his grandfather that evening over dinner about the plane ticket he bought, the guardian refused to believe that his own grandson would possibly make such a bold and stupid mistake. He immediately ignored the topic like it was just some sort of silly and unfunny joke, not bringing it up again for a week later.  
  
Eventually the day came for Davy to leave, however, and there was no denying it anymore. Davy was finishing triple checking his luggage, making sure everything was packed and all the preparations were set. His grandfather appeared in the doorway near the time Davy was finished packing and upon seeing the luggage asked where the young man was going, having honestly forgotten what he had originally thought to be a joke. Calmly Davy repeated that he was heading to America and finally it hit the older man that Davy was in fact not joking at all. He really was moving to another country and he was completely unprepared for such a thing. The shock caught him completely off guard and once again he didn't retain the information of where the young boy was heading. He shook his head, attempting to clear it and asked again.  
  
“Where did you say you were going?”  
  
Davy sighed and closed the last latch on his suitcase. Didn't he just answer that question seconds ago? “Again... America. There will be more opportunities there for your dream for me to come true. If it doesn't work out, I'll continue my own dream of working with horses for a living. Finally he looked up to his grandfather, seeing a completely bewildered expression on his grandfathers face. Had he not been already exhausted by the whole situation he may have found that look amusing, but as it stood he was ready for this entire issue to be over with. Davy also knew that although his grandfather was clearly thinking 'How could you do such a stupid thing, boy?' But the man never said it out loud, despite Davy having been almost certain that he would. Instead the graying man just shook his head, trying to once again dismiss the young boy completely, “You have just as many opportunities here, young man. Just go to London. In fact you may have it better off there then anywhere in America. Now unpack and get some sense into yourself. You're eighteen, how could you possibly still be so foolish?”  
  
Silently Davy shook his head, having expected this all along. Finally Davy had a chance to leave and do what _he_ wanted instead of what somebody else wanted and his grandfather was doing everything he could to stop him. However David couldn't tell if it was honestly because he thought Davy was making a stupid mistake or if he didn't want Davy to leave yet, “Afraid I can't. The ticket is non-refundable and it cost me a lot.” With that he straightened up and looked a lot more confident about this decision then he admittedly felt. He knew this could make him or very seriously break him. He had never traveled out of the country before so this was going to be a totally new experience.

 

Finally he grabbed his suitcases, having only two of them. He hadn't made any plans for once he made it to America – no hotel, job, or anything planned out so there was no telling how long he may have to lug the bags around with him. As such he made sure to only pack the necessities and a few more sentimental things to bring with. He looked at his guardian and took a deep breath, “Grandfather... I'm going to go. But I promise... I'll do my best to make you proud.”  
  
Still a bewildered expression hung on the older man's face. In no way did this drastic decision make any logical sense to him and David could tell that by the look he was still receiving, but there was nothing that could be done about that... Davy just had this feeling he should go to California. Maybe he would make something of himself, maybe not, but it just seemed like it would be his best bet, “I'm going to go to California. That's one of my best chances to make something of myself. I promise... I'll make you proud.” Or... at least he'd try.

 

Finally realizing his defeat, his grandfather stepped out of the doorway with a nod, “Alright... best of luck to ya, David. I'll give you a lift to the airport.”

 

Though Davy didn't say it... he was very glad to at least part ways with his grandfather on good terms.   
  
_______________  
  
That evening Davy found himself sitting in a very cramped seat of the airport and finally the even more cramped seat of the airplane itself, which is when he finally allowed himself to feel the natural anxiousness that set in a little bit. The weeks of anticipation had finally turned into a reality and not even he thought this was actually going to happen. Maybe if he had he would have planned a little better for once he got to America but the thought of what he would need once there completely had slipped his mind. This was all very exciting, though, despite being so scary at the same time. It was almost overwhelming but he'd take it one step at a time and knew that he couldn't go wrong if he just continued to move forward.  
  
It didn't take long for Davy to bore of the insides of the plane during the long trip across the sea. He fell asleep for nearly the whole plane ride and once they touched down he realized that was a very good decision. It was only in the middle of the afternoon now and he hadn't slept earlier that day. He wasn't sure he could be tired even if he hadn't taken the nap, though, because his excitement was stronger then he could have possibly imagined it could be. He had only ever really lived in Manchester his whole life with a few trips to London or other surrounding areas. But now he was suddenly stepping on the soil from a whole different country – another continent even! He couldn't believe it and he was more thrilled then anxious as he got his suitcases from the luggage return and left the airport, excited for whatever this country may have in store for him.

 

Once outside he was almost overwhelmed by the Californian heat. He was used to the wet and mostly mild temperatures of England, not this. Nevertheless he liked it. It was different and weird and completely new. Despite this being so frightening he loved all of these differences from what he was used to. Unfortunately the mindless bliss couldn't last forever and finally common sense caught up with him, _'Alright, genius. You made it to America with two bags of belongings and a bit of American money. Now what?'_ He looked around, completely at a loss of what to do next. He really was starting to regret not having already arranged for a hotel or something before arriving but he would figure it out, he was sure.

 

Slowly and without even realizing it he walked off the sidewalk and into the street, being so caught up in his thoughts on what to do next and so amazed by the tiniest differences he didn't even realize he had left the sidewalk. Being almost ran over by a cab, the vehicle’s horn blaring as it whizzed by, was at least enough to shake him quickly from his thoughts. He jumped back, nearly tripping over the curb as he was brought back to reality, needing a few moments to calm himself. He could only imagine if he had been hit – less then five minutes on his own and he would already have been hospitalized. He would need to try to be more careful, but at least that near accident made him come to the realization that he would get a lot further if he were to take a cab for a while lest he end up splatted on the outside of one.

 

Eagerly he flagged one down and was ecstatic as one pulled over, hopping inside with enthusiasm and almost bouncing in place. The cab driver only looked through the mirror at him, “Where to, kid?”

 

Once again Davy had to pause a moment, internally kicking himself for having done no research between the time he bought the ticket to come here and now. He had no idea of anything that was nearby, so he figured he would probably need to stop somewhere that he could sit down and think about what he needed to properly do next, “Um... well... I don't really know, to be honest.”

 

The cab driver held back a sigh, having had people like this before. He was wasting his time and potential money like this and it was always a bit of a hassle, “Look, I can't drive you nowhere. So please tell me where you want to go or get out so that a paying customer that _does_ have somewhere to be can get there.”

 

Davy frowned for a few moments, trying to think of something so he didn't have to walk around aimlessly. The man made a point but at the same time... “Okay, well, um... how about a nearby restaurant. Anywhere would be fine.” Maybe there he could have a meal, having found airplane food to be revolting, on top of getting a chance to make some real plans.   
  
The driver stared at Davy for a moment through the mirror, trying to figure out of the little British kid was serious. There didn't seem to be any sign of a joke in the boy's features which only made him positive that he was insane. Most other cab drivers that waited around here would probably take the boy to the furthest restaurant in the city but luckily for Davy this driver wasn't like that. The boy seemed so happy and excited that he didn't have the heart to kick him out or gouge him for money so instead he followed Davy's vague request, bringing him to little restaurant nearby.

 

Once they made it to the restaurant Davy thanked the man sincerely and paid the fee along with a hefty tip. With that the cab pulled away for it's next run and Davy turned to look around, making it two steps onto the sidewalk when this time he was fully thrown off his feet by somebody running into him. Davy grunted as he hit the ground hard but he was in too much of a good mood from the excitement of the day to let his normally quick temper get to him. Instead he shook his head a little bit and looked up at his assaulter. The person was a young man, probably just a little older then Davy and he had long dark blonde hair, similar in style to Davy's. Davy thought it was somewhat amusing to have run into a guy with long hair like his, as it was for the most part rather frowned upon by adults. The young man seemed to be in a terrible hurry as he jumped to his feet, slightly dazed by the sudden collision but managing to collect himself pretty quickly.

 

Rather then running off like most people would have, though, he helped Davy to his feet once he realized the person he ran into was still on the ground, “Oh, I'm sorry.” The stranger quickly picked up the dropped suitcases before Davy could take even so much as a single step towards them and handed them to Davy. That caused Davy to smile, already finding himself liking this guy. He couldn't really place why but chalked it up to his extreme politeness despite the situation, but it still almost felt like he was running into an old friend, despite never having met him in his entire life, “It's alright, it wasn't a long fall.” He grinned a little and was even more pleased to see that the stranger caught on to the height joke and seemed to find it funny. The blonde smiled a dimpled grin but that smile vanished as he looked down to his watch, suddenly seeming to remember that he had been in a hurry. The hastiness returned to the tawny-brown eyes, “I'm so sorry, it's just I'm late for work. It's been a bad day.” He seemed genuinely sorry for having crashed into Davy, just as he seemed genuinely sorry for having to leave in such a hurry. David knew the boy wasn't trying to be rude and smiled, finding himself wishing he had time to talk more with this soft-spoken stranger but not wanting to keep him dawdling, “It's okay, you should hurry.” With that he stepped further onto the sidewalk and out of the way. With that the blonde nodded, “Maybe we'll bump into each other again.” He smiled a little at the tiny joke and ran off again.

 

Once the boy went away Davy turned in the opposite direction. That was quite interesting to say the least... he was a complete stranger yet Davy felt sad to see him go and whats worse, he hadn't even gotten his name. Oh well, Davy shook his head, figuring his sentiment was probably coming from the fact he was in such a good mood and his emotions were so charged because of the excitement of this place. He really rather hoped everyone would be that nice.

 

Oh well, back to the task at hand. Davy looked over to the restaurant that the cab took him to and only a moment of inspection caused him to wrinkle his nose in disgust. The place looked horribly grimy and by the look of the 'deals' sign on the outside of the door it seemed expensive, too. He had brought some money but not enough to waste on too much on a single meal, so he knew he would have to find someplace else to eat. Besides if this was where people from the airport generally came, it probably wouldn't give him a particularly 'authentic' feeling of the town.

 

Davy stood around and waited to see if a cab would come by but to his dismay, none showed up. He sighed and figured he might as well walk, besides maybe that would be best to get a look around, anyway.  
  
Along the way Davy stopped to look at many restaurants and bars but none seemed to fit his standards. That isn't to say he had very picky of standards, it was just that he didn't want to eat somewhere that would waste too much of his money, but unfortunately that left him with mostly fast food places which seemed revolting to the young man brought up on British food. By now it felt like he had been walking for hours, though, and he still hadn't found anywhere he wanted to eat. He was starting to get tired and actually pretty hungry and unfortunately came to the realization that he had to be at least a little less picky. Either he would need to settle on expensive, something he probably wouldn't like but could afford, or someplace cheap that he would likely gag in. There were simply no restaurants that had the food he was used to in a price range he could afford right now. Sure, he'd probably find someplace _eventually_ but he had enough touring for now and really needed to sit down and figure out what he was going to do about a place to stay for the night. His legs were throbbing, feet felt like they were bleeding, and on top of that he wore a suit which was far too hot and heavy in this Californian weather. Once again he kicked himself for not planning ahead but that was neither here nor there and he had to just take the next step forward.  
  
He turned a corner and decided whatever happened to be on this block, as long as it was within his price range, he would choose from. About halfway down the block he luckily found a restaurant which seemed to be at least relatively decent. It wasn't grimy and the prices were affordable. He wasn't very keen on the extremely American cuisine the place had but it would due, it seemed. The building was small and seemed pretty friendly and when he asked, they didn't mind at all if he brought in his suitcases, as long as he kept them away from the walkways so nobody tripped.  
  
Davy entered and noticed that it seemed like you could either order then leave with your meal, order then go sit down with your food, or sit down and someone will come by to take your order, which was kind of neat. Unfortunately all of the tables seemed to be taken, which disheartened him a little. He didn't give up, though, and went a little further in to see if there were any tables to the back. His eyes were still used to the brightness from outside so it was somewhat hard to see some of the tables near the back but eventually he _thought_ he found an empty table in the back corner.   
  
It wasn't empty. Once his eyes fully adjusted he noticed that the table was already occupied with two people, by now though he was almost grabbing a chair from it. He was about to turn away when the one with the brown hair looked up at him, grinning widely. This guy seemed probably about as old as Davy, give or take a couple years, and he just let loose an aura of friendliness, “Oh hey you need a place to sit? You look tired.” Without waiting for Davy to give an answer the boy got up and pulled an extra chair around the the table, gesturing to it, “Please, take a seat and take a load off for a few.” With that he helped Davy put his suitcases under the table, still with almost no input from Davy himself. Needless to say Davy was incredibly shocked by all of this and took a moment or two before he glanced at the black haired man. He seemed older then either Davy or the brunet but not by much and his mood was not nearly as inviting as the one who originally greeting the British man. Luckily, however, he didn't seem to mind the addition to the table.

 

It didn't take much thought for Davy to decide this was probably a good idea. He felt welcome and it didn't seem like any other tables would be freeing up for a bit and by now he didn't feel like continuing the hunt for someplace to relax. So with a nod he sat down in the offered chair and watched as the guy who originally greeted him called for a waitress who was passing by. He didn't call her rudely or anything but Davy did notice a sort of loudness and hyperness about him, though that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The waitress came over and took Davy's order and once that was done he glanced up at the two at the table with him. The one who originally called him over and the darker one with the peculiar green wool hat. He was so glad to find another two people like that guy he ran into earlier – so nice and inviting. He felt pretty darn comfortable around these two though that was probably just how relieved he was to finally sit down so he could rest.   
  
Finally, he extended his hand to each of them with a charming smile, “Um... Hi. My name is David Jones...”

 

 


End file.
